


Downpour

by amporasbitch



Series: Tumblr Requests [2]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Youtube RPF
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Thunderstorms, Veeeery minor illusions to WKM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 03:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14926664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amporasbitch/pseuds/amporasbitch
Summary: Wilford hates how storms make him feel, hates the way they almost remind him of things he's forgotten. Luckily, he has Bim to help him through it.





	Downpour

**Author's Note:**

> Another request! This time, the prompt is Wilford saying "Will you hold my hand?" to Bim and being afraid of storms. It took me a while to write (and even longer to post here lmao), and there's parts I'm not super-satisfied with, but on the whole I think I did alright!
> 
> Enjoy!

Every ego has a different reaction to thunderstorms. Some of them love storms, love the sound of dripping rain and the rumble of thunder. Others hate the intrusive noise and the pelting raindrops. Most of them are indifferent and ignore the storm as they go about their day. A select few egos, however, are deeply scared of thunder and lightning.

One of those egos, unbeknownst to most, is Wilford.

Most people think he’s one of the ones who only hates the storms, judging by how he acts. It’s storming in LA, right over Ego Inc., and Wilford is jumpy and irritable. He mutters and fidgets, only stopping to flinch at every peal of thunder. He paces, gun out, twitchy and ready to fire at the slightest provocation. He’s already had to call off filming for the day, and that fact has only made him angrier. A few other egos have tried and failed to calm him during storms in the past, getting bullets whizzing by their head for the trouble. By now, Wilford is left largely alone in storms due to what others perceive as his anger.

Truthfully, the thing Wilford’s angry at is himself. He’s angry at himself for being so damn scared of the thunder and lightning, but he can’t make himself any less afraid. He can’t even pinpoint why it scares him so much. The gun in his hands is as loud as the thunder when it goes off, and the flash of lightning isn’t unlike the combustion of gunpowder when he pulls the trigger. But there’s something about storms, something about the darkened, rolling sky that speaks to his deepest fears, something that pulls at a door within his mind that closed long ago. He paces the floor of the studio, muttering to himself to quit being a baby even as the storm hovers over Ego Inc.

Wilford is pulled out of his thoughts by approaching footsteps, and his first instinct is to whirl at the sound and raise his gun.

“Wil, it’s only me,” Bim says gently, hands up, a serious but kind expression on his face.

“S-sorry,” Wilford mutters, not lowering the gun, “The stupid storm, has me all out of–” A crack of thunder resounds, pausing his words. “–of sorts.”

“I can tell,” Bim replies, “I’m here to help.”

“I’m fine,” Wilford snaps as lightning flashes across the room.

“It’s okay to be scared, Wil,” Bim murmurs, taking a step forward.

“I’m not scared!” Wilford insists, “I’m not, I just–” Thunder silences him again for a moment. “Stupid, stupid,” he mutters at himself.

“Wil?” Bim asks, concerned.

Thunder rumbles again as more lightning flashes, and suddenly, Bim looks like someone else.

“I didn’t,” Wilford gasps, starting to lower his gun, “It was…It was…” His expression twists as confusion layers over fear.

Bim takes another step closer, and another, and puts down his hands. Wilford’s eyes flick between him and the gun in his own hands, but he doesn’t fire it. Before Wilford knows it, Bim is right in front of him, and the gun is on the floor, though Wilford doesn’t remember dropping it.

“Wil, it’s okay,” Bim whispers, and no, his hair is fluffy and sticking up, not slicked back and clean, and he’s wearing a tie, not a bowtie, and he has glasses, and the half-formed memory disappears with the next flash of lightning.

“This is dumb,” Wilford huffs, “I shouldn’t be like this about storms, I’m Wilford Warfstache for god’s sake!”

“I told you already, it’s okay to be afraid,” Bim reminds him, “I’ve helped you through storms before, let me help you again, yeah?”

Thunder claps again, and though Wilford flinches, it’s not quite as severe this time. He mumbles something Bim can’t quite catch.

“What was that?” he asks. Wilford hems and haws before answering properly.

“Will you hold my hand?” he mutters, not looking at Bim.

“Sure,” Bim answers, smiling softly. He reaches out and takes Wilford’s hand in his.

Both their hands are the same, technically, since they both have Mark’s body, but somehow they’re so different. Bim’s hand is slighter than Wilford’s, with softer skin than Wilford’s callused fingers. But Bim’s grip is firm, and his hold is steady and comforting.

“How about we go to the lounge?” Bim asks, “The thunder doesn’t echo as much in there.”

“Yeah,” Wilford says, finally beginning to relax, “Yeah.”

They’re halfway down the hallway there when Wilford turns to Bim.

“Back there, when I had my gun on you,” Wilford begins, “You weren’t scared in the slightest. Why not?” Bim smiles again and squeezes Wilford’s hand.

“’Cause I knew you wouldn’t shoot me. Besides,” he adds, cheeky, “What’s a bullet wound between friends?”

Wilford surprises himself by laughing, and squeezes Bim’s hand back.

“Good point, my good man,” he agrees, and Bim laughs too as they continue to the lounge.


End file.
